


Out of Sight

by bonusparts



Category: Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Female Friendship, Friendship, Kink, Oral Sex, Relationship Issues, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:49:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25443427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonusparts/pseuds/bonusparts
Summary: A challenge to be better, with the help of a blindfold.
Relationships: Dawn Granger & Donna Troy, Dawn Granger/Hank Hall, Hank Hall & Donna Troy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	Out of Sight

They seemed almost to float, feather-light, between the illuminated pools of blue and white, perfectly in sync. With effortless grace, they slipped around each other, a flock of tulle- and satin-clad swans. Then the violins rose, and the Princess Odette stepped forward, commanding the lights and music and her fellow dancers like a single blazing star in a velvet black night.

Dawn closed her eyes for an extra-long blink, recalling the feel of hot lumens and sweat along her skin. And the ripple of nervous energy pushing her back straight and her chin up and her toes stiff enough to hold her tall for a series of perfect pirouettes. For a second, she was there again: breathing hard, tense with concentration and joy. Then she opened her eyes and saw the stranger on the stage.

“Do you miss it?” Donna asked out of the blue as they walked the short distance from downtown back to the apartment.

Dawn gave her best quizzical look. “Miss what?” She opened her eyes wide. “Ballet?”

Donna nodded, black hair bobbing. “I saw you,” she said, “watching them up there. Like the way some athletes pine for the game after they retire.”

“Or famous photojournalists pine for the action when they take pictures of superheroes?”

Donna narrowed her already shrewd gaze. “We’re talking about you, not me.” Her expression turned compassionate once more, in the way it always did with her. “It’s okay to say yes.” She bounced her shoulder. “It’s okay to say no, too. I’m honestly just curious.”

Dawn swung her gaze away to the streetlamps with a shake of her head. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe. Some of it.” She chuckled to herself. “I don’t miss damaged toes! Or the endless rehearsals, or mountains of supplements with every meal. Or the dieting! I like a beer once in a while.”

“You don’t have anything to worry about. You still look great in your costume.”

Dawn shot her a teasing look. “What about you? Does the old Wonder Girl outfit still fit?”

Donna scoffed and gave her a scolding bap in the arm with the back of one hand. “Just because I don’t put it on every night anymore doesn’t mean I can’t still slip into it.” She raised her nose. “And I don’t have a cape covering my ass.”

“Touché,” Dawn said with a laugh, and they walked in a comfortable quiet a moment before she ventured another, more thoughtful question. “Do you miss it?”

“No,” Donna said, then made a face. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She snickered. “Some of it. Like sparring with somebody who can actually take the punches, for a change.”

Dawn hummed; there it was. She glanced down at her feet for a step, then murmured, “How did he do?”

“He’s slower on his left than his right,” Donna confirmed in a similarly quiet and serious voice. “But I only noticed,” she was quick to amend, “because you told me to look for it.”

Dawn closed her eyes and tightened her mouth for three steps, leaving the only sound that of their boots over the pavement until she muttered, “Damn it.”

“Too many hits to the head?” Donna guessed.

“Too many hits _with_ his head,” Dawn corrected. She blew a sigh that was as much fearful as it was frustrated. “Did you know, after his last concussion, he lost his peripheral vision on that side? It came back, but…!” She shook her head, leaving the rest unuttered.

“Hank’s one of the toughest bruisers I know,” Donna said, her voice still hushed. “And I’ve met Supeman!”

“He’s not Superman.”

“What I mean is, he’s as good at taking damage as he is at dishing it out. It’s what always made him such a great meat-shield.”

“He’s a lot more than that,” Dawn said, and immediately regretted her defensive tone.

“Of course, he is,” Donna replied gently. “But if you’re really worried about it, you can help him change.”

Dawn shook her head again. She and Hank had talked about retirement in the abstract: a little farmhouse out west where they could regroup, recoup, and reset, with a garden and a dog and maybe a baby or two. But: “We can’t quit. Not yet.”

“I’m not talking about quitting.” Donna put out a hand, stopping them right in front of the apartment building entrance, and lowered her head. “Men have been visual fighters from the time the first one picked up a rock. You just need to teach him to do things differently.”

Dawn frowned. Hank had never appreciated being told what to do; getting him to change something so intrinsic to his nature as his combat style wouldn’t be easy. “And how am I supposed to manage that?”

Donna smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure out a way to motivate him.”

*

“How were the swans?”

Dawn led Donna into the kitchen, where Hank was standing at the sink, his powerful arms elbow-deep in soap suds. As she drew a chair out from the table with a faint squeak, she told him, “Beautiful. As always.”

Donna took a seat, too. “You should have gone, Hank. It’s called culture.”

“And miss the big game?” Hank shot back over one broad shoulder.

Dawn sent Donna an amused smile and asked, “Who won?”

“Irish, of course,” he informed them in a neutral mumble. He paused to take a drink from the glass beside him, then turned around and waved one sudsy finger at Donna. “And I’ve seen ballet before.” He looked at Dawn. “What was the name of that one I liked? The one with the swords.”

Donna’s brows went up, but Dawn kept her smile. “Tristan and Isolde.”

“Yeah. Tristan and Isolde,” Hank repeated, sneering at Donna. “See? I got culture.”

“I stand corrected,” Donna said, lips pursed for a tiny smirk.

The argument was no argument to Hank, who turned back to the sink and offered with an openness that was typical toward Donna Troy if no one else, “There’s still some homemade pizza left. You want some?”

“No.” Donna rose silently. “Thanks. I really should get going; airport security in this town takes forever.”

Dawn glided up, too. “We’ll drive you.”

“You’ve done enough,” Donna began, but Hank came away from the sink, wiping his hands on the dish drying towel, to pluck her wings.

“Just take the damn ride.” He paused at Donna’s shoulder for one of his off-center smiles. “It’s the least we can do for Big Sis.”

“Thanks,” Donna said again.

Hank used his arm to give her a fraternal bump as he stepped past her, a move that would have unbalanced a man half-again her size but for which Donna only chuckled airily. Dawn caught her gaze for a look that said, _He loves you_ , a notion evidenced by Hank’s enquiring call a moment later:

“Which bags can I carry?”

After they loaded the car with Donna’s luggage, Dawn got behind the wheel, leaving Hank and Donna to talk aimlessly about current events and past adventures while she concentrated on driving. Traffic stayed reasonable, so they got to Departures Drop-Off without too much trouble. There, Hank hopped out and unloaded the trunk while Dawn traded a quick goodbye hug with Donna.

“I’ve got a gallery showing scheduled for Alexandria in a few months,” Donna said as they parted. “I’ll reserve you a pair of tickets.”

Hank loomed over Donna’s shoulder, holding her duffel, overnighter, and long camera bag. “Sounds good. I love free wine and cheese.”

Donna took the camera bag and paused to give him a light punch in one bulging bicep. “Head down, hands up, Hawk guy.”

“You, too, Wonder Gal,” Hank murmured, and passed her the rest of her bags.

She shouldered them both, swinging her head so that her hair flowed out the same way it did when she would take flight back in her Titan days. Then she stepped back, waved, and walked through the Departures doors.

Dawn took the wheel again for the drive home. Hank slipped down a little bit in his seat, staring out the window as the Parkway passed beneath them. She thought maybe they’d have for their soundtrack only the regular tump-tump sound of tires over the roadway when Hank asked:

“What did Donna say about me?”

Dawn glanced at him; he was still looking out his window, his posture weighted down with seriousness. “We don’t talk about you as much as you’d like to think we do,” she teased.

“I’m not stupid,” he said. “I know all that sparring stuff was a test. So, what’s her verdict? That I’m too chaotic and volatile? ’Cause I could have told you that.”

Dawn focused on the road but told him, “She says you’re slow to react on your left.”

“Well, I’m a righty,” Hank dismissed.

“That’s not the reason.”

“Come on. You know me. I’m fine! Besides, the assholes we go after aren’t like Donna. She can throw me through a fucking wall!” Under his breath, he added, “She has,” in the impressed tone he reserved for the erstwhile Wonder Girl.

“I’m just concerned,” Dawn said.

“I get it,” Hank said, this time in the distinctly tender way Dawn only ever heard him use with her. Across the width of the gear shift he reached his hand, resting it lightly on her leg. “And I appreciate it. I do! But you don’t have to be.” He smiled in that sweetly boyish way he knew could melt her resolve and said, “I’ve got you watching my back. That’s all I need.”

She offered him a longer look than was probably safe at sixty-five miles an hour but other than that let the silence speak for her.

*

Dawn lay on her back, eyes closed as she listened to the sound of water sloshing in the tub. That would be Hank shifting position, probably so he could dunk his head. A rough snort followed ten seconds after; definitely, a dunk. More lapping sounds, then squishy scrubbing, and the faint tap of the soap being laid back in its dish. A squeak; a silence; a sigh. Then the comparatively loud slop of water rushing to fill emptied space, and the flap of a towel being unrolled in one quick jerk.

She rubbed the soft cloth in her fingers and listened some more. Rustling cotton, the electric buzz of a toothbrush, and the clatter of pills in their plastic bottle. Then the snap of the light switch, and the abrupt bump of colliding flesh and wood.

“Ow,” Hank hissed.

Dawn smiled to herself, pulling on a breath the smell of clean-him: aloe soap, mouthwash, and fabric softener. The sheets flapped open and the mattress shifted for his weight, and his arm came around her in a familiar bedtime embrace. Rather than returning it, she gave the cloth in her hands a squeeze. “Are you tired?”

“I thought you were.”

“Not really.”

Hank’s scorn came out in the swing of his voice. “Then why’s it so dark in here?”

Dawn opened her eyes and turned onto her hip. His face was wrapped in darkness, his features no more discernible than a shadow, but in her mind’s eye, she knew every crease, lash, and whisker. “I want to try something new.”

Her vision was already starting to adjust; she could see him frown when he mumbled, “What did you have in mind?”

She lifted the strip of cloth between their faces. “Put this on?”

“Where?”

“Over your eyes, silly.”

“Oh!” She got a brief glimpse of his pearly whites. “Okay.” He accepted the blindfold and tied it around his head, tugging it down into place over the bridge of his nose. “Now, do I feel my way, or—Where are you going?”

She’d slipped from the bed and stood at its side. “You’re ‘it.’ Come get me.”

He sat up with a whiffle of sheet. “Blindfolded? I’ll kill myself!”

“You won’t kill yourself; I won’t let you run into anything dangerous. I just want you to open your other senses. Listen, smell, feel the world around you.”

“Okay, Obi-wan,” Hank began curtly, but Dawn didn’t let him finish.

“No looking. You can do everything else but look. Come on, Hank. Think of it as a game.”

“A game, huh?” She knew that would pique his interested. “What’s my prize if I win?”

She leaned in to make her whispered motivation heard. “You’ll have to catch me to find out.” Then she rose away, padding backward on her bare feet out of the bedroom.

She kept her eyes on him, watching as he took the dare with sliding steps and hands outstretched as feelers. Despite his blind uneasiness, in the almost-darkness in just his sleeping shorts, his silhouette resembled a stone-chiseled demigod. Not that she’d ever met an actual demigod – the closest she’d come was seeing Orion flying over Hamilton Park – but she was certain Hank Hall would fit in among them just fine. Oh, yes, he would.

She was still moving when her foot came down on one of the looser boards in the floor, making it creak. She stopped.

He bolted straight, his head jerking in a turn. “You’re in the living room,” he declared, and she smiled.

“But where in the living room? Do you want a hint?”

“No,” he said, and chuckled. “I want to earn this.”

She started to chuckle, too, then pressed her hand to her mouth, to keep from giving herself away.

He strode a line of more confident steps until it reached the creaky board and he reached out his hand. It passed about six feet from her chest.

Hank turned his body about like a flummoxed hound searching for a scent. “You’re not just walking circles around me, are you?”

“Do you mean literally or figuratively?”

“Ha ha.”

“I haven’t moved. You’re close,” she whispered into the air. “Very.”

Once again, he straightened his shoulders and moved his head back and forth in a slow, seeking swing. He pulled his big chest full of air and held the breath for five long beats before exhaling over another three. He stepped forward again, slowly but sure-footed, out of the way of the sofa and until he came nearly to her side. There he stopped, his body motionless but tense.

She could see the twitching of his nostrils and the bump of his throat as he swallowed. A deeper downward glance showed the tight muscles of his torso shifting under his breathing, and, beyond that, the tempting shape under his shorts.

Dawn bit her lip, clenching her hands into fists to keep them from straying. She closed her eyes as more defense against his magnetism…but his smell filled her nose again, this time less of it fresh soap and more masculine musk.

The air moved around her, his smell with it. She heard his foot tap a different part of the floor, and he was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating from his body. Then his breath blew against her bare shoulder where her nightshirt had slipped down her arm, and she sucked a little gasp as her nipples suddenly went hard.

Hank snickered near her ear. “I win.”

Dawn turned, eyes still closed but knowing nevertheless where to grab his face to pull him in for a kiss. After their mouths came apart with a little smacking sound, she told him, “I never doubted you.”

“I almost walked past you!”

“Almost. But didn’t.” She opened her eyes and smiled up at him. “What gave me away?”

“Your hair; I’d know that smell anywhere. And when I got close enough, I felt it against my arm.” He grinned. “It tickles.”

She giggled, then tapped the blindfold still covering his hazel gaze. “You can take this off, now.”

He burred a quiet and wicked hum. “I’m thinking I’ll keep it on. Find out what else I can do without looking.”

The scent of him seemed to change, to the thick and heady smell of his skin when they had sex. It sent a flutter of anticipation through her that raised the tiny hairs all along her body. “Such as?”

His arms were already around her, but he shuffled nearer so they were hip-to-hip. “Such as,” he said, craning his head so he could lay his lips upon the base of her neck, “this.” He moved to the other side, where he repeated the same light, brushing kiss. “And this.”

She sighed and let her head drift back, making room for his attention as he tapped more little kisses along her clavicle. Then his hand slid up her side, under her shirt, to cup the round of her breast.

“This, too,” he said, bowing his head to kiss her through the cotton.

Dawn exhaled a long, “Oh,” as another wave of arousal rippled through her. At the same time, she felt like she wanted only to melt in his arms and let him lap her up. She settled for holding his head to her, his short hair bristling against her palms.

He pulled back, and she let out a whimper of regret. His hands slipped around her again, this time under the waist of her panties. He didn’t squeeze but simply pushed them down over her hips, following them with a slow sink to his knees.

“And this,” Hank whispered. Then he pressed his face between her legs and gave his mouth something better to do than talking.

Dawn closed her eyes again, to concentrate only on the feel of him: the subtle scratch of his stubble, the gentle nuzzling of his nose and heat of his breath, and the conscientious stroke of his tongue. She stepped out of her fallen panties and put one leg over his shoulder, laying her hands on his crown for balance. A little coo escaped her as his mouth touched more of her. When she whistled his name, he answered with an encouraged fervor that set off a flurry of explosions all along her nerve endings.

Her climax might have come after five minutes or fifteen; the only thing she was sure of was the ecstatic shudder that very nearly made her cry out. It definitely made her gasp, so, short of breath, she gulped his air when he clamped his hot, wet mouth to hers.

He yanked himself back, the scent of citrus surrounding him, and wheezed that he wanted her. She told him yes and kissed him again, holding his face as she stumbled backward to the sofa.

The hard head of his cock teased her a second before she slapped her clawing fingers into his hip and pulled him in. His first stroke stuttered, but soon their bodies were moving in synchrony, full of grace and power and joy. Even after he came, the effort continued for a few lengthening moments, until her body stiffened with another blissful reaction, this one shorter than the first but no less tingling.

Hank lifted them into a more comfortable lie-down position on the sofa, where they used his shorts for a superficial clean-up. He was still wearing the blindfold.

“Not bad, huh?” he said.

“Very good,” she corrected.

He chuckled under his breath. “I could get used to being Zen, if it means doing this more often.”

Dawn giggled, too. “Sure.” She pushed the blindfold off his head, leaving him slightly squinty. “Though, I miss seeing your eyes.”

"They’re my prettiest feature,” Hank quipped.

“That’s what you think.”

“Are you saying it’s something else?”

“You’ve got a few tied for first place.”

“Why, thank you,” he said, and they both laughed again. Then he turned serious, his voice low and deep, a rumble through his chest. “This was about more than just getting a little kinky, wasn’t it?”

She scratched her fingernail over the line of his sternum; his skin, like hers, was still sweaty but cooling quickly. “It’s about using all the senses you’ve got, not just the ones you’re used to relying on. If you learn to do it as Hank, you’ll do it as Hawk, too.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You sound like Donna.”

Dawn cringed her shoulder. “She might have made a suggestion.”

“Jesus, Dawn!” he cried, shifting away.

“What?”

“This is our sex life! I don’t want Donna knowing about it. Or anybody else, for that matter!”

“The blindfold was my idea,” she said in a more no-nonsense voice. “Donna recommended the exercise; that’s all.”

He huffed, his face visibly going red even in the dark.

She laid her hand on his cheek in a calming caress. “Hey,” she said, coaxing him to turn her way. “I just want you to stay smart out there. Because when we get out, I want you to still be able to do all the things you do right now and more. I want us to hike up a mountain for a picnic. I want you to show the kids in the neighborhood how to throw a pass. I want you to be whole.” She put both hands on his face and rubbed her thumbs over the hard bones beneath his skin. “You’re a good man, Hank. My good man.”

After a long and silent minute, she heard him swallow, a hard and clenching sound. Then he said, “I want to be good. For you.”

“For yourself, first,” she told him. “That’s the only way it’s going to stick.”

He sighed against her, and she felt as well as saw the uncertain little smile that stretched his lips. “You’ll help me. Right? ’Cause I’m not sure I can do it without you.”

The significance of that statement weighed heavily on her, but she decided not to confront him with anything more than a soothing, “I think you could.”

“Let’s say I don’t want to, then,” he amended. He bowed his head and tapped his forehead to hers. In a hushed murmur, he told her, “I want you,” without any impatient desire or underlying ache.

She smiled for the sweet sound of his naked honesty. “I want you, too.”

He nuzzled the tip of her nose, and she tilted her head to kiss him, the first time lightly and the second time deeper. To keep them from getting too serious or melancholy, she put her arms around him and prompted:

“Again.”

Hank met her instigating naughtiness with a snicker. “I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Dawn shifted her hips against his and grinned. “I think you’ll do just fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> “Titans” Season 2 is mostly anathema to me. Thus, this fanfiction foray into a mostly happy not-yet ever-after for my favorite aggressor/peacemaker vigilante couple. Donna deserved more, too. 
> 
> If you liked this, let me know. It's been a while since I wrote anything this explicit; I hope it works. My itch has been mostly scratched by writing this, but if others would like to see more from me, I’m easily persuaded by comments. 😊


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